The Ramblin' Man
by Mantinas
Summary: 5th story in Tamah's and my pokecraft series; but this is mine not HP's. Paul is writing nonstop, a voice is egging him on. Strong hints of comashipping as well as other ash pairings. If you are an author; perhaps you'll understand why I wrote this.


The Ramblin' Man

Disclaimer-I own-quite possibly-the plot. But I don't claim it.

Because this is fanfiction and not a novel, I'm giving you a key.

Blah. Narration

_Blah. Typed words._

"Blah" Conversation.

It is Paul, because this one really needs a pokemon character in order for it to even be considered fanfiction.

Dedicated to my ex and I.(mostly me, but still…XD) and every writer that ever thought 'this could happen to me.'

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The night was dark, a new moon was present in the sky. The stars twinkling in play above the old forgotten house. The house sat in the woods, several miles from any town or city. The seclusion helped. In fact, the very noticeable fact that his brother Reggie was not there was enough to make Paul smile. And smiling was something he needed right now.

_Death sat at the door, awaiting for his appointment to show up. Never truly caring how they came to him, just as long as they came. Death checked his wrist watch and nodded. The little girl was gonna get it._

He typed furiously on the ancient typewriter. His thoughts a jumbled mess; flying out at a constant speed that mimicked a rambling person talking a mile a minute, never stopping, not even for food or water. The spaces inside his mind were not bright and pretty-not like they ever were before-but compared to now, his mind is a desolate utopia of decay, fear, and doubt.

"Write, Paul, Write." A voice in the darkness said, its pitch was of an attractive girl. "Just write."

"Will people read these when I'm done?" Paul asked.

"Yes." The voice said. "In time, they all will read what you have written."

"Good." Paul said, a weak smile gracing his face.

He did not care if anyone liked it. But he wanted to be well known. After all, he was doing them all a huge favor. Something that needed to be done.

_The ramblin' man sat down at the typewriter so he could sort out his thoughts. Instead; he discovered a power. A deep, glorious, wonderful power; stronger than his words ever hoped to be: The Written Word._

Paul had not eaten or slept in weeks and it was showing. He had bags under his eyes, his cheeks caved in much like his frame. He was eating away at himself, but he had no choice. There was no telling what would happen if he stopped writing.

_The ramblin' man saw worlds! Strange and horrible worlds, without ever leaving the comfort of his easy chair, but writing helped. Writing, he discovered, saves the world; his world. And that's what he was doing. Saving the world. All he had to do was write. And soon, very soon, the world would be saved._

_A man I never knew existed saw R'lyeh. But did he ever see Hombarlge? Baku? Samdanr? The towering monoliths that live in the mind's eye? Shifting and twirling in their nightmarish vision into our brains, giving us our fears. Our hopes. Our faith. Not to mention our dreams._

His writing was nonsense; ramblings of a mad man caught in a bout of grand mal seizures. Yet, in the only minute space in his mind, he often wondered why. Why he was writing when his stomach and eyes threatened to quit and close? Why was he listening to the voice? Why did the voice comfort him? No woman has ever soothed him; his mother tried, but failed. Besides, girls in general never interested him. But this one…This one was different. Was special. And he wanted her by his side until the end.

_Yet from his ramblings, thousands of stories will be made. And from those stories will come crappy movies and sequels. Hollywood never got the spirit of the book right and after centuries of successful failures; why try harder now?_

"Good, good." The Voice said. "Keep up the good work, Paul."

"Thank you." Paul said.

_He was in love with the voice. Such a wonderful sound. The sound of a lovely young maiden too shy and fair that she hides in the darkness forevermore._

A new tangent started in his mind.

_Jimmy's mother entered the kitchen, a silver platter, covered by a silver dome in her hand. Jimmy licked his lips hungrily, for he had not eaten earlier. His mother set the platter down before him and he reached out towards it, never suspecting what was underneath._

"Keep writing, Paul." The Voice said. "Keep writing and you'll save the world."

Paul smiled as he typed something random than the tangent he was on with Jimmy.

_Jodi screamed as she saw her boyfriend's body lying on the side of the road. The sound of a running engine and drunken-turning tires blazing down the road was the only source of who killed him._

"Am I really saving the world?" Paul asked, a hopeful, sleepy expression on his face; looking like a tired man about to end it all in his sleep.

"Yes." The Voice cooed.

"That's good." Paul said, his bloody fingers stopped what they were doing.

The house swirled; shifting into alien landscapes beyond and between the stars that were once above the house and holes appeared in the room-from which horrible sounds emitted. Sounds that came ever louder as shapes drew nearer and nearer. Paul looked on with subdued fear; his eyes bulging only slightly, making him look wide awake.

"Paul!" The Voice shouted.

Paul was snapped out of his terror right as the shapes became clear. He panted, his heart racing. His torso began to rock as his stationary lower arms held his hands to the keys-like they had a mind of their own-they typed, never misspelling a single word.

_Ash is a drag queen! Oh how lovely she looks in a dress(1)! Every boy in their teens or preteens wants to be with her(2)! But she belonged to me; body, soul, and heart; making all of them jealous._

He chuckled at what he wrote. He had written a few phrases on his rival throughout the thousands of pages. But none ever made him laugh; so far only this one did. Perhaps it was because he put him in a dress. Or maybe it was because he claimed what really is not his. In his current mental state, he did not know.

"Why me?" Paul asked, not really comprehending what he is saying through the thick, foggy cloud that covered his mind.

"Because." The Voice said.

"'Because'," He stopped and yawned. "Why?"

"Just because." The Voice said.

_The sad man sits alone under the church-under the ground-not knowing he's dead. Poor man; he does not know that he's a zombie. He has forgotten so much thanks to death's brutal caress._

Paul felt a connection with the man he just wrote about. Sitting alone, crying on the inside. But he remembered his past. He's not alone, The Voice is here; though his pokemon would be too, but The Voice said he had to release them in order for him to concentrate on writing. Not like they minded; to be rid of his training style and apparently The Voice as well made them happy, he was sure.

_Archie-short for Archimedes-was a squirtle and sole companion to Jeremy-a sad lonely boy riddled with insanity. Jeremy-Jer to his friends-hated it when Archie gasped in fright. Whenever it was caused by him, he would convulse in an epileptic way, screeching out syllables and gasps and say: "I'm sorry, Archie, I never meant to hurt you. I love you Archie, I love you very much; I do." Sounding weak and pained, even though physically he was fine. This would always make the squirtle sad, unable to tolerate that look, Jeremy took a gun, aimed it between his eyes and blew his brains out._

Paul shook his head, trying to wake himself up. It was not fair. Why should he save the world? Was that not Ash's job? He recalled several times where the boy told him of his exploits with rare pokemon. Saving things was Ash's job.

It has annoyed him-fate's timing-to see how great he truly was. Now he was getting what he wanted. And he wanted to take it back. It is just a shame that the universe has this 'all sale's are final' approach to things. Although he was glad to have a turn; he just wished it could involve sleep and eating.

_A point in the universe chants: Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn. _

_Whilst the whole universe chanted right after the point finishes: Cthulhu fhtagn! _

_As if it were expecting something. Making the cruel joke of life even-if at all possible-more cruel. The chanting never has never ended since it started in 1926. Setting into motion the shrill notes of madness._

"Indeed it does." The Voice chuckled. "Indeed it does."

"How do you know what I wrote if you can't see it?" Paul asked. "You're always in the shadows, away from my sight."

The Voice stayed silent in its hiding place in the dark.

_Soon the ramblin' man will keel over and die. Leaving behind nothing but his words. Words that may start a movement. But most likely will remain silent, never to be heard._

_What makes a death untimely? They say God takes you when it's time. So what if it was their actual time to cash in their chips and call it a life? That does not sound untimely to me._

Paul felt fatigue far worse than before. His eyes were cement sheets that kept closing, even when he tried to keep them up. He fell off the chair and landed on his left side on the floor; facing the darkness where The Voice hid. His fingers slowly stopping their movement; as if registering that the keys were no longer underneath their bloody tips.

"Good job, Paul." The voice said, ignoring Paul's facial plea for help. "You did a wonderful job. You did it."

The world around Paul began to shift and holes appeared from which horrible sounds erupted and dark shapes writhed, drawing nearer and nearer to the dying boy.

"Please." Paul said. "If you won't help me, can I at least see you before they get me? Let me gaze upon the face of the thing that has loved me."

There came a sigh and a sound of something sliding along the floor. The Voice was revealed. Paul's face contorted into horror, his lips opening and closing in a rapid pace. The thing was horrible looking and fat, the only thing that would confirm its feminine gender was its voice. Paul tried to scream, but nothing came out. A tentacle drew nearer to him from The Voice's body.

"There, there, Paul." The Voice said, emitting from the horrible form before the boy's eyes, its tentacle caressing his brow in a comforting way. "You did it, Paul. Take comfort in that. You saved the world from yourself."

Paul let out a dying scream as The Voice slunk back into the darkness and right when the creatures were about to exit their openings, revealing themselves. Jeremy, with a hole in his forehead and Archie were leading them, Jimmy's mother followed by Jodi's dead boyfriend with Jodi-their elbows wrapped around each other's followed by Ash in a dress holding the hand of the ramblin' man whom looked just like…

"No." Paul let out, not believing what he was seeing.

They advanced towards him; their faces set in a scowl, as if they hated their existence and were going to take it out on the one whom gave them that existence. Paul sat frozen as they drew nearer and nearer until they were inches away from him.

"No!" Paul screamed, his final breath leaving him.

Paul faded into darkness. Leaving the sleeping, peaceful world behind. When and if anyone were to find his body and examine it, they would find that his cause of death was from starvation and dehydration, not from the fright he obviously witnessed right before dying.

The pharaoh stepped out of the darkness and walked out the door. He let out a sigh and replaced that grave look with a smile. He walked on under the moonlight, leaving Paul behind and forgotten.

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1)Referring to my first pokemon fic "Out of Control".

2)Making fun of Ash pairings.

There are references about me in here. If you truly know me, you can spot them easily. I also hope you caught that brief history lesson in here. Yep, the first official Mythos story "The Call of Cthulhu" was published in that year. Hoped you enjoyed it. ^_^


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